


Strays

by Haeron



Category: The Silmarillion, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haeron/pseuds/Haeron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU ficlet where Middle Earth becomes modern London. Some things are universal however, namely angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strays

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble is gifted to Giulia, my darling - aka helcaraxe.tumblr.com

“Just how long ago did you phone for a taxi?”

 

“Ten minutes ago, love.”

 

“Then it should be here already!” Maedhros huffed. “Phone them again and tell them we’ve been waiting here for too long!”

 

Fingon shook his head with a fond smile.

 

They’d planned to walk home and enjoy the early dusk winter thrust upon them for they were both enamoured of the stars and desired nothing more than a stroll under their gentle glow, following the moon back to their small flat, tucked away in a reclusive part of the London suburbs.

 

But then the heavens had opened and they were sodden through before they had taken ten paces.

 

“It’ll be here when it gets here, a little rain won’t hurt you.” Fingon said as he looked both ways down the road eerily cast aglow by the lampposts. A few cars meandered by now and then but none of them were cabs, rather they were sensible, four door hatchbacks driven by folk who looked at the two men stood huddled together on the side of the road and shook their heads.

 

“Káno, that’s easy to say when you’re wearing a waterproof coat with a hood.”

 

“Perhaps you’ll learn something about practicality after today, then!” Fingon said merrily, thrusting his hands further into his pockets and peeking up at Maedhros from under the rim of his hood.

 

“And perhaps I’ll contract pneumonia and die a horrible, horrible death because you won’t phone up the taxi rank and see what’s taking them so long!”

 

Fingon knew Maedhros was trying to be stern but the pout on his lips and the droplets of rain falling from his nose did much to ruin the effect.

 

Minutes passed and there was a flash of lightning overhead. The bolt illuminated Maedhros’s despondent face and Fingon was suddenly stuck with sympathy though the smile did not fade from his lips, rather it grew softer.

 

As he stepped closer it seemed to Maedhros that his face was enlightened somehow, his skin was pale and radiant and the compassion and love in his eyes (almost obscured by the low rim of his hood) burned ever on. He is a marvel, Maedhros thought to himself as two gloved hands cradled his face and a sweet kiss was placed on the tip of his nose.

 

A car horn blared and they both turned to see a black cab pulling in on the curb.

 

That would explain his sudden luminance, thought Maedhros, greatly cheered by the sight of the taxi. Fingon noticed his levity and released a small sigh of relief that went unnoticed as they clambered in the back of the car. They dripped over the leather seats and squeaked whenever they moved even an inch, but the cab driver was a kindly faced fellow and smiled into the rear view mirror.

 

“Where to?” asked he.

 

Maedhros and Fingon exchanged looks and their hands came to rest atop one another.

 

“Home.” Said Fingon.

 

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

 

Fingon took great care as he towel dried Maedhros’s auburn locks, careful not to tug or pull overmuch. Maedhros knew this and was thankful, for Fingon, as powerful and authoritative as he was – was possessed of a gentle hand.

 

Too gentle at times, Maedhros smirked and closed his eyes, enjoying the pampering. They were sat upon the old sheepskin rug in their night-clothes beside the electric fire that buzzed and hummed and sometimes crackled, Fingon would give it a sideways look whenever it did so – he’d been telling himself he’d get his father to check it out – but that was no longer an option.

 

Fingon was suddenly motionless. His father’s death was still raw.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Maedhros asked, though he suspected he knew.

 

“Nothing, love, now turn a little for me so I can carry on drying you off.”

 

Maedhros wondered if he should refuse and press Fingon for a truthful answer. He knew that sleep eluded his dark-haired lover for hours long after he himself fell into easy reverie. Maedhros had tried staying up alongside Fingon, but his soft breathing and the fingers stroking his arm would have put to rest even the most exuberant soul.

 

But Fingolfin’s death was a hard, cruel blow. They’d have to talk about it one day.

 

Not today, though.

 

Fingon set to work towelling the tresses that fell about Maedhros’s face; he felt keen eyes boring into him and smiled.

 

“Do not glare at me so!” he chuckled, “It’s your own fault for leaving without a coat.”

 

“Yes well, it falls to you to warm me up again.”

 

“Which I’m doing presently.”

 

“My body is cold also!”

 

“Oh, and we shall attend to that, most thoroughly.”

 

Maedhros saw Fingon wink ever so subtly as he lifted his head, he’d been about to grin wickedly in reply when something on the coffee table behind drew his eye.

 

A cup of tea (milk and three sugars, Fingon’s favoured brew) was nestled beside an empty mug (black coffee, Maedhros’s lifeblood). Fingon’s cup was atop the only coaster they had between them whilst the coffee cup was resting upon a folded up piece of paper, obscuring the familiar handwriting that covered both sides of the sheet.

 

Maedhros grimaced; his father always had a habit of slipping into purple prose.

 

“He sent you another one, didn’t he?” Fingon asked in a low voice.

 

“Another five, aye.”

 

“I worry for your father,” Fingon said as he rubbed the wispy ends of coppery hair. “We all do.”

 

“They are heirlooms, Káno, you can’t really expect him to just give them up. He never lets anything go.” Maedhros huffed.

 

“So you intend to join him?” inquired Fingon, sounding harsher than he’d intended and feeling an unpleasant lurch of anger rise in his stomach.

 

“I think I have to.” Maedhros answered.

 

His words were simple and his gaze beseeching, Fingon’s anger receded instantly and he pulled Maedhros into his arms. Maitimo did not resist, he welcomed the embrace and rested his head on Fingon’s shoulder and stared, unseeing, behind the tarnished metal grate and into the fire. He thought not and gave way to his melancholy, if only for a time.

 

Fingon however, did think.

 

He wondered if life was always going to be thus, he wondered why it was that one could scale a mountain yet upon reaching the summit be faced with half a dozen more, stretching out into the distance. Would it always feel as though he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders?

 

At that thought he looked to Maedhros and kissed the crown of his still slightly damp head.

 

“We could run away.” said Fingon.

 

“No, my heart, we can’t” Maedhros answered, but he smiled all the same.

 

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

 

They fell quickly into bed.

 

The loft they shared had only one bedroom and the removal man had laughed when he learned Maedhros and Fingon wanted to fit a double bed into the modest room. Of course, that only served to make Maedhros more determined to do so.

 

The bed filled the room almost completely and was piled high with blankets and pillows to survive the harsh colds that came so often to London, but that night as Maedhros moved atop his dark lover, it was as paradise. He gripped the headboard with one hand as he thrust slowly into Fingon, and with the other hand he brushed away the dark tangles of hair.

 

The uncertainty of hours past disappeared entirely and the future retreated. There was only the sound of their lovemaking, the pale pinpricks of the stars and the warm glow of the little lamp (with a flickering bulb) perched precariously atop the nightstand.

 

“You are so beautiful, Káno.” Maedhros breathed, maintaining the languorous rhythm of their joining.

 

Fingon smiled at his words and made to respond but his words were cut off and only a deep moan escaped him, pleasure was surging through every cell, bone and muscle of his body and with every deep undulation of Maedhros’s hips he felt his undoing draw ever nearer.

 

Fast and hard, that’s what he’d whispered into Maitimo’s ear as they roamed every inch of their uncovered bodies with hands still curious and yearning after all their years together. But Maedhros being Maedhros decided to do things his way; their passion was slow, unrushed and utterly divine.

 

Torturous is more accurate! Fingon grinned as he wrapped his arms around Maedhros’s neck and drew him down for a kiss just as languid. His fingernails he let drag gently up his partner’s back and relished as Maedhros shivered with delight, Fingon gasped as he received his comeuppance, a hard buck of hips and a cresting surge of ecstasy.

 

“I… I feel…” Fingon began; his words were cut short with a sweet kiss.

 

“And I also.” Maedhros said, his eyes were darkened with lust.

 

Fingon could only growl as they raced to completion, he tangled his fingers in the silken locks of Maedhros’s fiery hair and even as he panted and mewled as their lovemaking became erratic, he smiled inwardly to know it was he who had the privilege of doing so. Maitimo was the desire of many, tall but comely and with a passion for all things he set mind to – how could he not be?

 

But Maedhros’s heart was under lock and key, every beat and every breath issued forth was for Findekáno. His hand he let travel the length of his beloved’s body, tracing the path of scars yet unfaded until it came to a sculpted thigh, Maedhros pulled Fingon closer, delving deeper with every thrust.

 

They rested brow to brow as they rode out the climax of their passion together. Fingon let out a low, guttural moan and Maedhros threw back his head, the name of his lover ever upon his lips.

 

-

 

That night, sleep eluded them both.

 

Utterly spent and contented, they lay in a tangle of blankets and duvets with faces turned towards the small window. They both looked out past the blinds and over the tops of the surrounding houses to the moon, waxing crescent. Some doubt had crept back into the mind of Maedhros, but truthfully he found it hard to linger on such darkness when there was only a sheet of cotton covering Fingon’s supple body.

 

They lay close; Maedhros had an arm around Fingon whose head rested upon his chest. His breathing fell in time with Maitimo’s heartbeat.

 

They were one.

 

“Even if you did go,” Fingon began in a quiet voice. “I’d follow you. I’d follow you to the very ends of the earth.”

 

Maedhros laughed, a comforting sound.

 

“Go to sleep, Káno.”


End file.
